She just couldn’t help herself. Every day she did this.

Hours and hours.

Scrolling down and down and looking at all the pretty pictures of the stupid pretty girls and reading the words and biting her lip and rubbing and rubbing and

Wait.

She scrolled back up. And up. Looking for what had caught her eye.

Nothing. Just the same girls as before, 

Could have sworn she saw…

No. Just her imagination. Nothing to worry about.

Scrolling and rubbing, scrolling and rubbing.

And moaning. Even saying some of the words she read back out loud. That was fun.

Down and down.

Wait. No. Up.

There. She found it.

She hadn’t imagined it. It was there.

A picture of her.

And not just any picture. Not one ripped from anywhere. This was one she hadn’t ever taken. Couldn’t have. Could she? She’d remember. Wouldn’t she? She’d have to remember something like that.

Right?

She looked like them. The other girls. The stupid pretty girls.

Tongue out, eyes crossed.

Slutty.

Drooling.

Dumb.

It was her.

Her hand hadn’t stopped. Another moan.

She read the words. About how girls were silly and weak and soft and were just porn and how she don’t worry and can’t think and don’t stop and she rubbed and the whimpered as she said the words to herself and stopped worrying and didn’t think about it and looked at herself and

Scrolled and rubbed.